


Falls the Shadow

by FromAtlantiswithLove



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Gen, M/M, Survival, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAtlantiswithLove/pseuds/FromAtlantiswithLove
Summary: “A walker?”“Meat bag, lame brain, ankle biter. Whatever you wanna call ’em.”Allen's pretty good at the whole survival thing, which comes in quite handy when the world gets overrun with the undead. Day after day, worrying only about quelling hunger and finding shelter, you get used to that kind of simplicity. It can hardly be called a life, though.Or,A white-haired boy comes across a group of people during a zombie apocalypse and learns that there might be more to existence than mere survival.
Relationships: Kanda Yuu/Allen Walker, minor Kanda Yuu/Lavi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50





	1. A boy and his dog

**Author's Note:**

> This work is (very) loosely based on The Walking Dead.

**1.**

The sun was a perfect orange disc in the clear sky, already disappearing behind the slate-gray roofs, feeding the shadows like ever-growing monstrous children eating at the lawns and houses. The only audible sounds are the rhythmic chirping of the crickets, singing louder and louder as the night approaches, and the occasional bird shaking the branches of a nearby tree as it flies through its green leaves, little body blessed with wings.

Besides a couple of cars, abandoned and covered in a layer of dust so thick their original color is hardly recognizable, the road is mostly empty. Except for the odd-looking white-haired boy walking down the street, angry red scar running down the left side of his face. His steps are light and careful on the warm asphalt. There's a little round-faced yellow dog trotting behind him. A small, transparent smile breaks across the boy’s lips.

“Must’ve been a nice neighborhood to live in, right Tim?” He says, twisting his face around to address his four-legged companion.

Tim jerks his head up in agreement.

Gray eyes scan the area, spot a two-story blueish house.

It won’t be long before the opaque darkness ingulfs the last residue of light and the undead scatter everywhere. They’re more active in the nighttime, something about the cooler temperature. Anyway, sleeping under the stars isn’t an option. They must find shelter.

“Let’s try this one,” the boy says, hold tightening around the strap of his backpack.

There are absolutely no sounds coming from the house. Sure enough, the front door has been sealed off, same goes for the first-floor windows, wood boards nailed all over them from the inside. The boy skirts around the rectangular structure, looking for another opening. He catches sight of a small open window on the second floor and smiles again in relief. Tonight, they’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep, probably some food too – he sighs dreamily at the thought – maybe even a shower.

A twig cracks behind him and his heart misses a beat. His hand flies to the gun lodged in the waistband of his jeans as he turns on his feet, dizzyingly quick, but before he can even try to make use of it, he's hit in the face with a shovel and promptly loses consciousness.

* * *

There’s crack in the ceiling.

His throat is parchment dry.

The room smells of dust and humidity.

Are the three first things to reach his brain as he regains consciousness.

Then comes the panic, a sharp stab in his stomach, because his ankles and wrists are tied to a four-poster bed. His muscles go tight all over, ready for a fight he can only lose, nails digging in the soft skin of his palms. A shaky grunt escapes him.

“Hey, Lena, he’s waking up.”

He doesn’t know it. That voice. Low and raw. He twists towards it and notices the tall, dark, _living_ man looming over him from the right side of the mattress. The fear and apprehension in his belly subside ever so slightly as he takes in the sight; liquid black hair falling around carved features and impossibly dark eyes. Even through the discomfort of being in a situation he doesn’t know what to make of, his sorry excuse of a brain sighs, _how…inappropriately beautiful_. Always the sucker for a pretty face.

Another voice, lighter, softer, a girl’s, coming from outside the bedroom interrupts his reverie.

“What a relief, I thought you had killed the poor guy!”

“I didn’t hit him _that_ hard.”

The boy’s face twitches, “My face says otherwise,” he manages to croak.

“Tch. He speaks too.”

The body to whom the second voice belongs appears in the dark rectangle of the door frame.

“He really isn’t a walker, then. That’s good,” she says, coming closer, standing next to him on the left side of the bed. Turns out she’s also a looker, small face and big shiny eyes. The boy’s gaze travels from one to another.

“He’s got the look, though,” the gruff voice retorts, he has a feeling he should be offended but choses to brush it off.

“A walker?”

“Meat bag, lame brain, _ankle biter_. Whatever you wanna call them.”

 _What the hell is he going on –_ “Oh. No, no! I’m perfectly human, a living, breathing, very _not_ undead human!”

“Yeah, we gathered that.” The girl chuckles and sits on the edge of the bed, near his hip. The smile eventually slips off her lips as she glances at the tall male, silent question in her slight frown.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“See what?” The still tied up boy asks. “Would you mind cutting these off? Since, you know, we’ve established I’m not a danger to you.”

“We haven’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“You could try something _funny_.”

A pale eyebrow raises behind a strand of unnatural white hair.

“Yeah, ‘cause I really am in the position to attack you, pretty boy.”

There’s a tense silence in the room, and then the girl bursts out laughing.

“Oh, Kanda, you should have seen your face!”

“I’mma kill him.”

“Just untie him already,” she says, voice still trembling with amusement as she makes a vague hand gesture towards the bed.

Pretty guy grunts but eventually leans over him, a knee pressing down on the cushion, black-blue locks sliding over his shoulder and brushing against the boy’s face. Dark eyes shine with a silent threat as long, hard and lean arms stretch over his head. He feels the hot-cold press of a blade against the thin skin of his wrists, thinks for a second that in the end he won’t come out of this unscathed, but next thing he knows his hands and ankles are free of rope.

He sits up, movements jumpy and eyes them warily. Takes in the girl’s open and friendly face, the guy’s brooding and menacing frame. Ponders his next maneuver. Choses diplomacy.

“I’m Allen Walker,” he says, rummaging through his smile collection and going for a polite, not quite friendly, one.

Pretty-face-not-so-pretty-attitude coughs, the girl glares at him and nudges his side, hard, before turning to Allen with a smile of her own.

“I’m Lenalee and pretty boy over there is Kanda.”

The coughing sounds far more genuine now.

Allen’s thinking that a ‘happy to meet you’ wouldn’t be befitting of the situation when a thought crosses his mind, lighting fast. He looks around the room, anxiously.

“Where’s Tim?”

His voice is _not_ shaking.

“Tim?” The girl – Lenalee – asks, tilting her head to the side, dark hair curling just above her shoulder. Her eyes widen in understanding. “Oh! You mean the little dog?”

“Yes! You haven’t…done anything to him, right?”

“Stupid fucker bit me, I cut it in half.”

Allen _feels_ his face go pale or paler than it already is.

“Shut up Kanda, you’re frightening him.”

“ _His_ fugly mutt frightened _me_.”

“Tim is downstairs, sleeping,” Lenalee tells him, voice soothing and the knot in Allen’s chest evaporates.

“Thank _God_.”

“You wanna eat something?” She asks next and Allen has a feeling this girl must be some sort of angel. His stomach rumbles at the mention of food.

“Yes, please.”

The furniture in the living room has been pushed to the sides, against the walls and windows, to prevent the light from being seen from outside and the walkers from breaking in. As Lenalee has said, Timcanpy is indeed soundly asleep on a greenish colored couch, rolled up in a small yellow ball. Seeing the usually guarded dog so relaxed helps Allen’s nerves ease just a little bit more. He’s not comfortable by any means, but he’s less tense. He spots a mattress sitting on the floor, in the middle of the room, sheets balled up in a messy pile and a duffle bag next to it.

“You’ve been sleeping here?”

“What’s it to you?” Kanda retorts, face set in a deep scowl since he untied Allen.

“Jeez, I’m just asking. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” the white-haired boy can’t help but throw back, annoyed.

“What was that?” The other asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What was _what_?”

Great, now he’s getting defensive.

“The way you talk. It’s weird.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The guy is frowning, chin held high and nose in the air like he’s smelling something.

“…You’re British?”

It sounds like an insult.

“W-What of it? You don’t look all that American yourself,” he throws back and gestures at Kanda’s face, weirdly offended. _What does that even mean? You don’t look American?_ _That’s just stupid._

“That’s because I’m _not_.”

“Boys, please stop your bickering,” Lenalee’s approaching voice says. “Food’s ready!”

That manages to get Allen’s attention, he straightens his back and looks expectantly as the girl walks over to them, holding a fuming pan in her hands that she plops down in the middle of the table.

“That’s…?”

“Ravioli!”

“Not to your liking beansprout?”

“I didn’t– _what_ did you call me?”

“Beansprout, that’s what.”

“The name’s Allen, jerk.”

“Like I’ve got time to remember useless information.”

“But you’ve got time to come up with stupid nicknames?”

“It suits you.” Kanda smiles smugly.

“That’s your _unwanted_ opinion.”

Lenalee’s luminous eyes travel curiously from one boy to the other, a dripping in red sauce ravioli impaled at the end of her fork.

“What’s up with your arm?” She chimes in, popping the beef filled pasta in her mouth.

That puts an end to their renewed argument. Allen absent-mindedly hides his unnaturally colored left hand under the table. People rarely ask about it so straightforwardly.

“I was born like this.” He smiles, embarrassed.

“What about your face?”

This time it comes from Kanda. Expression uninterested.

“That’s…kind of personal.”

“Whatever. It looks stupid anyway.”

Something tells Allen the black-haired male isn’t talking about the oddly shaped scar adorning his face.

* * *

“We can’t just leave him here.”

Allen watches silently as Lenalee’s soft face scrunches up in annoyance, hands folded on his lap around Timcanpy’s sleeping form.

“Uh, yeah, we can.”

“How can you be such an asshole? Oh, don’t you dare roll your eyes at me,” she says, a delicate finger jutting menacingly in the air between them.

“So, what, you want to take him back to the camp?”

“That’s right.”

Kanda scoffs.

“That’s stupid. We know nothing about the guy, he could be a menace.”

“Then you’ll have the satisfaction of finishing him off.”

What an odd combination those two made; soft and hard, smiling and scowling, gentle and violent. The way they moved around each other, talked to one another, no barriers, no hesitation. It spoke of familiarity, like they could’ve been siblings. How nice, Allen thought. It was funny, for a while, to watch them throw words at each other, refuse to step back, but it was also becoming increasingly unnerving. For all her kindness Lenalee was talking about him like he wasn’t even there, like he didn’t have a say in the matter.

“Lenalee, it’s quite all right, really,” he cuts in, harsher than intended. “I’ve been surviving on my own for a while now. It’s fine.”

She looks upset by his words, thin eyebrows furrowing above the bridge of her nose.

“But did you choose to?”

“What?”

“To be alone?”

Mana’s milky eyes. Cross’ towering figure.

Keep walking.

Did he ever have a choice?

“N-not really,” he stammers.

Her expression softens, not pitying, kind.

“Would you like to come back to the camp with us, then? Survival is easier when you’re part of a pack after all.”

His gaze goes from Kanda, arms crossed over his chest, pointedly looking the other way, back to Lenalee. It settles there, upon that open, welcoming face. He should refuse. He’s got the words ready and everything. _Thank you, it’s nice of you to ask, but I’d rather not._ It wouldn’t be that hard, quite on the contrary, it would be easy. Saying yes would just complicate everything.

Truth is, Allen isn’t cut out to be a lone wolf. The loneliness…it’s damn heavy. Asphyxiating. It presses down on his lungs, it feels like trying to breath underwater. So, although he knows he should say no, he doesn’t want to and that, right there, that’s what making a choice feels like. Probably.

“I…,” his voice sounds strange to his own ears. Hoarse. Syllables jagged. “Yes. I would like to.”


	2. Shades of gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people, they need to see the world in black and white, it helps justify whatever lengths they go to in order to survive. It’s a trick of the mind, makes the unbearable slightly more bearable. Whereas Allen’s world is nothing but shades of gray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about a thousand words longer than the first. I did not expect that. Thanks to everyone who read, left kudos and comments, you made my day (week?)!

**2.**

The undead; they're an awful sight, nightmare material. Walking skeletons. Flaps of grayish flesh hanging to jutting bones. Teeth bared in inextinguishable anthropophagous hunger. They smell the way they look. The stench of decay, of rotten meat, there's nothing like it. It burns its way up your nostrils, uninvited, unwanted. An unforgettable shock to the brain.

Everything about them is detestable. A human form without trace of humanity. A terrifying reflection.

Allen knows all of this, he's seen it from up close, the transformation, the cruel similarity between what you once knew and loved and the murderous thing it becomes.

Still – or maybe because of this – he can't find it in himself to hate them.

Instead, he feels a morbid sympathy towards them, almost…affection.

He doesn't have any qualms killing them when it comes down to it, kind of enjoys that part actually.

Those thoughts and feelings, he knows they wouldn't be welcome, knows they'd be misunderstood, so he keeps them to himself. Most people, they need to see the world in black and white, it helps justify whatever lengths they go to in order to survive. It's a trick of the mind, makes the unbearable slightly more bearable. Whereas Allen's world is nothing but shades of gray.

* * *

They're ready to leave the house when morning comes. Whatever canned food they could get their hands onto shoved inside Kanda's duffle bag and Allen's backpack. _Pinto beans, dark kidney beans, black beans, green pigeon peas, blackeye peas, cannellini, chickpeas…_ Not a very diversified selection but a highly nutritional one.

They found some medication too – you never know when you might need some – but if the people that used to live in this place had any weapons or ammunitions, they toke everything with them they left, and that's a real bummer.

Allen joins Lenalee downstairs, hair wet from the shower he just took, where she's busy filling up several plastic containers with drinkable water. He crouches beside her to help when Kanda walks into the kitchen, long hair tied in a high and sleek ponytail.

"I'm gonna go get the car," he tells Lenalee.

He's basically been ignoring the younger male since it was decided he was to come along with them the previous night, so the lack of acknowledgment is hardly surprising.

"Should I come with you?" Allen asks nonetheless, already standing up and dusting off his pants. There might be walkers around the house and although Kanda seems perfectly capable to handle a few zombies, there's always a risk. It's a very logical and rational proposition, in his humble opinion, but Lenalee blinks like he just suggested they should invite the undead over for dinner.

Allen is kind of puzzled, and watches as Kanda makes an irritated sound and walks to the unsealed front door, not bothering to grace him with an answer. That's when he notices the long shape strapped to his lean back. A sword, but not of the occidental kind; it's too narrow, looks light. Its bare neck of a severe simplicity, embellishment free. Much like the man himself.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Hm, not really. He's just…big on the whole being self-sufficient thing," Lenalee offers with an awkward smile.

Allen lets the information sink in. It…makes sense, doesn't mean he's not also a right twat.

"That face is completely lost on him," he sighs. Realization hits him promptly half a second later. "I," he starts, cheeks warming up, "didn't mean to say that out loud."

The girl chuckles, mirth dancing in her bright eyes.

"You're absolutely right, though."

Kanda's back a few minutes later, presence made known by the purring of an engine outside. Allen follows Lenalee outside, backpack slung over his shoulder and a water container in each hand. His eyes had gotten used to the dim-lit inside the house and squint when he steps outside. It's still morning, but the air is already heavy hot, sun shining unforgivingly bright in the never-ending blue sky.

The car is a squarish low-roofed Ford Escort, a vestige of the 1990s' civilization. They load the water containers and their other findings in the truck.

There isn't the shadow of a cloud nor the shadow of a breeze.

It makes it easy to hear the peculiar grunting coming from behind them.

It's not even an entire body.

Just a pathetic humanoid shape crawling on the floor. Bony fingers digging into the dirt in order to move the remains of a torso forward. It has no feet, no calves, no legs. Instead, there's a gaping emptiness where its stomach should be, guts spilling on the ground like a snail trail. Part of the backbone is visible, sticking out under the ripped skin like a pale broken tree branch.

It's not much of a threat in that state.

Allen doesn't move, neither does Lenalee, but from the corner of his vision he sees Kanda's tall silhouette walking towards the pitiful creature. Steps unhurried. There's something otherworldly beautiful about the way he unsheathes his sword, it draws a perfect circle around him, makes a clean, singing sound as it cuts through the empty space.

The rays of light catch on the polished blade, blinding.

The grunting gets louder as Kanda gets nearer, the walker's appetite whetted by the smell of close living flesh, its hand lands clumsily on the dark-haired male's booted foot, hollowed faced upturned and teeth clapping on empty air.

One swift motion and a cracking sound is all it takes. The sword goes through the creature's cranium with no resistance at all.

Cross' voice echoes inside Allen's mind: ' _Remember kid, it has to be the brain, otherwise they won't die. Always go for the head._ '

The walker makes a gurgling noise and goes limp.

* * *

Allen's not sure how long the car ride to the camp is, because somewhere along the way he falls asleep, comfortable and warm. He's woken up with a harsh shove.

"Didn't get enough sleep last night, brat?"

His eyes flutter open to Kanda's retreating face.

"Are we there yet?"

"Get your stuff and your ass outta the car."

The boy stares at him pointedly. "Your conversational skills are absolute shite."

"And your accent sucks so bite me."

That is a proposition Allen wouldn't mind taking him on, but figures he'd better keep a low profile for now. Plus, the long-haired male has already wandered off when he steps out of the car, Timcanpy jumping out excitedly behind him. The Ford Escort is parked behind a battered RV on the side of a dusty pathway.

He takes a look around; the trees stand tall here, something regal about their dark and slender silhouettes stretching towards the sky, closing in on themselves above their heads. Providing welcome shade and coolness, hiding the settlement from the main road. It seems like a nice place to hide, nicer than wherever Allen's been.

He can't see anyone, but he hears quite clearly the sounds of human presence, echoes of conversations.

Lenalee, who Allen is by now pretty sure has unnaturally acute senses, notices his hesitation and walks to his side, bumping their shoulders together.

"Don't fret," she says, smiling reassuringly. "They're all lambs compared to Kanda; I swear."

That makes Allen smile, so he croaks an uncertain, "Right," and lets Lenalee pull him by the arm.

It's been weeks, maybe even months since he has last been with so many people and they're not even ten. The group is gathered around what appears to constitute the center of the camp – a mixture of burnt wood and silver ashes indicating a fireplace, plastic chairs and benches pulled in a circle around it – they stop and look up from whatever they're doing upon seeing Kanda, their eyes searching for Lenalee and spotting Allen's unknown figure beside her.

It's intimidating, feeling those unknown eyes on him, racking him up and down, settling questioningly on his white hair and red scar. It makes his skin itch with the reflex-desire to turn away, to curl in on himself, but he squares his shoulders, takes a breath and tries to appear as amiable as he possibly can.

"And who do we have here?" A tall male asks, dark hair grazing his white-clad shoulders and glasses hooked up on the bridge of his nose. Allen knows enough about pretending to recognize that smile as cautious rather than inviting.

"Allen Walker."

"We found him during our little expedition and decided to adopt him," Timcanpy bumps his head against Lenalee's shin, "and his dog."

Timcanpy isn't nearly as intimidated by the prospect of meeting new people as his owner is. His droopy eyes look up curiously at the tall man's seemingly neutral expression. Study it. A dark eyebrow raises carefully and whatever the little dog senses in that slight change of demeanor, he deems it satisfactory enough, because he lets his pink tongue out from his mouth in what looks like a smile and continues his inspection, trotting up to a muscular brown-skinned male crouched over a big casserole. He finishes his sniffing expedition near a short curly brown-haired boy whose lap he decides to jump onto, making him stumble to the ground and land on his butt, yellow tail slapping happily in the air.

"Easy, easy there!" The boy says, laughing heartily and patting the flat top of Timcanpy's head. The stern looking man sitting next to the guy cracks a smile too.

It's like a scene out of a cartoon, silly and unexpected. It makes the tension that had settled over the camp with Allen's presence lessen considerably. Enough for the man's cautious expression to slip into a politely welcoming one.

"Nice to meet you Allen." He comes forward – he's really tall, the boy notices, so much so that he has to crane his neck to look in his face – with an outstretched hand. "My name is Komui, I'm Lenalee's older brother. Welcome to our modest haven."

"Sorry for the trouble," Allen answers, shaking Komui's hand firmly.

"Lenalee, would you mind showing him around?"

"Not at all!" In fact, she sounds delighted to be appointed that mission and doesn't lose any time hesitating before looping her arm with his. She's pulling him away by the arm when her brother calls out.

"Oh, and, Allen?"

A mop of white hair turns around, eyebrows raised questioningly. "My precious sister is off-limits so no flirting, otherwise you'll face a fate worse than being eaten alive by walkers, yeah?"

"I wasn't-I'm not, sir!"

" _Brother_."

Komui raises his hands to indicate he's over with threats. "See you later youngsters!"

"Is he always like that?"

"More often than not," Lenalee admits with a shake of her head.

"I'm really not…flirting or anything." He felt the need to clear the air but that came out really bad, didn't it? The girl doesn't seem fazed in the least, she tilts her head to the side and a small smile creeps up on her lips.

"Is _my_ face not up to your standards?"

Allen feels the blush running up his neck and settling on his cheeks. He curses himself for ever admitting he had a thing for Kanda's face out loud and silently takes not that the girl smiling innocently at him is a lot cheekier than she lets on.

"Not cool, Lenalee."

She laughs; it's a beautiful crystalline sound.

They proceed with the showing around and Lenalee introduces him to the brown-skinned man crouching over the casserole. His name is Jeryy; he was a Michelin-starred chef before the zombie epidemic and somehow still stayed true to his calling through it all by becoming the group's designated cook. He's an extravagant tower of a man, light hair parted in two long braids and sunglasses covering his eyes, he also knows which plants and mushrooms can be consumed without risk, how to find food even in an apocalyptic context. When Allen confesses he hasn't had a decent meal in months Jeryy promises him the best stew the end of the world will ever see for dinner.

The short boy with the curly hair – he's shorter than Allen – is actually a _man_ in his mid-twenties called Johnny Gill. His glasses eat half of his face and his round cheeks split in a large grin as he shakes the white-haired male's hand. The man sitting quietly next to him is Suman Dark, he looks like he might be in his mid-thirties. He would've come across as tough – in a brooding _Kanda-ish_ way – if it weren't for the visible slump to his shoulders.

"He was separated from his wife and daughter when the epidemic broke," Lenalee explains as they walk to the RV. "He's been looking for them ever since."

Her words hang in the air for a little while.

"Must be nice," Allen says. She looks at him with a confused frown, so he continues, "to have something to live for, a reason to survive."

"I guess," she eventually murmurs. "Do you have one? A reason?" She asks next.

"Me?" He points to his own face and scratches the back of his head when Lenalee nods. Thinks about a promise he made once, what feels like a lifetime ago. "Ah, no, I'm more of a one day at a time kind of person."

"I see."

Thankfully the conversation ends there – Allen's not comfortable with this topic – Lenalee's delicate looking fist banging on the door of the vehicle.

"Reever, you in there?"

" _No_!" Comes the muffled response.

"We've got a newbie, come say hi," the girl instructs.

There's the sound of furniture falling and being pushed around; a consistent series of cursing accompanying it. The footsteps come closer, until they're just behind the door and it slams open, startling Allen who takes a step back.

Contrary to one may have thought, the thing that comes out of the automobile isn't some sort of wild animal – like a grizzly – but a tired looking man, dark bags under his eyes and sandy hair a spiky mess. He's got a cigarette stuck between his lips, and the cloud of smoke that follows him as he steps out of the RV suggests it's not his first of the day.

Lenalee pinches her nose and gives him a disapproving look.

"Allen," she starts in a twangy voice, "This is Reever, Reever this is Allen."

"Nice to meet you, Reever."

"Same here," the guy answers, taking Allen's hand in his.

"Where did you find those?" Lenalee asks, pointing to the cigarette.

"Didn't hide them well enough."

The girl sighs.

"Please refrain from smoking inside the RV, it stinks."

"Sure, boss."

"You'll meet the others later," she says as she hands him a tent rolled tightly and Allen can't help but notice – as he puts it up somewhere between those Lenalee indicated as being Jeryy's and Kanda's – how at _ease_ she seems, like the previous day as she quarrelled with Kanda. Walking around this precarious camp in the outskirts of a ghost town like it's a home, _her_ home, talking to the people gathered here like they're family.

"The others?"

"Lavi and his grandfather."

Later is actually around dinner time, a pale mauve hue settling on the camp as Jeryy gives the finishing touches to his stew. It smells like the promise of a full, satiated belly. Even Kanda has come out of his hidey-hole – although whatever he spent the last couple of hours doing didn't do anything for the scowl on his face, or maybe seeing Allen just makes him happy – he makes a point of sitting as far away as possible from the white-haired teen.

A tall figure appears between the nearby trees, another, much shorter, on its toes. The redhead must be Lavi, Allen takes an easy guess, and the old man with the sternest expression he has ever laid eyes upon – like it's saying 'absolutely nothing you could ever do would impress me' – the grandfather Lenalee mentioned.

A black eyepatch covers the young man's right eye, but the other one, of a vibrant green color, rakes Allen up and down as he hands the body of a dead hare to Jeryy, who clasps excitedly, before his face splits into a goofy grin.

"Fancy seeing a new face!"

He drags a chair next to the 'new face' and yawns once he's seated.

"Peeps around here call me Lavi," he says; smile still firmly in place.

"Does that mean it's not your real name?" Allen answers easily enough, shaking the hand he's offered.

"That's _top_ secret."

"Well, I go by Allen."

The guy is…lively. Funny in a clown-y, quick-witted way. The easy-to-get-along-with-but-hard-to-get-to-know type. He leans down to pet Timcanpy, quietly sitting by his owner's feet.

"How old are you by the way?"

"Seventeen, why?"

"Huh, no reason at all. Just pegged you to be older. Maybe it has to do with the white hair?" He points at said white hair and Allen cringes inwardly.

"Don't get me wrong, I think it looks _he_ –" Lavi doesn't get to finish his sentence because he's hit in the back of the head rather harshly and tilts forward.

"Shut your big mouth," the old man responsible for the blow admonishes. "Don't mind him, his tongue is the only part of him that isn't lazy."

There's a scoff opposite them and a mumbled 'damn right'.

Allen blinks.

"Okay?"

"Geez gramps, stop hitting me on the head! I need my brain undamaged, thank you very much." A severe hand rises again and the redhead winces. " _Fine_ , I'll shut up."

The silence lasts only long enough for the old man to take a seat next to Komui, movements surprisingly smooth for a person his age and for the others to gather around the lit fire. Lenalee distributes the chipped warm plates and bowls – whatever can be used as a recipient for food really – and takes place on Allen's vacant side.

"Isn't it bothersome to travel with a dog?" Someone – Johnny, if Allen remembers correctly – asks timidly. "I mean, the walkers are attracted to noise, what if it barks? You can't control it."

Allen licks his spoon clean, that stew is _really_ tasty, and he wonders how Jeryy could manage to season it with what little ingredients he has access to. He understands the question, it is pertinent. "On the contrary. He has actually saved my life several times. He warns me if there are any undead around, smells them before I can," he explains, left hand going to rest on the small dog's head, "Tim doesn't bark either. Never has. Don't know what it is, but I have to admit it's quite opportune." Timcanpy leans into the touch.

"Hey," the redhead nudges Allen on the side and the white-haired turns towards him, mouth closing around his spoon. "Can I call you beansprout?"

The meat Allen was chewing on tries to go down a channel it's not supposed to, and a very loud very long coughing fit ensues. Lenalee pats him on the back unhelpfully as he glares at Lavi through embarrassingly teary eyes.

"I'd rather you don't." He catches sight of Kanda's sneer and despite all his politeness, the temptation to tell Lavi off is really strong.

"But that's what Yuu calls you," the redhead almost pouts.

"Yuu?"

The sneer disappears from the long-haired male's face.

"Don't use my first name. Idiot rabbit," he all but growls.

Allen's attention is piqued.

"What's wrong with your given name?"

"Don't talk to me. Dweeb."

"My my, I hope name-calling isn't your only strong suit."

"I could show you a thing or two about punching the life outta scrawny butt munches."

"Sounds like a threat," Allen declares tartly, expression falsely shocked.

"That's because it _is_ one."

Lenalee rolls her eyes but everybody else stares at the scene with morbid curiosity.

"They've been like this since they _met_ ," the girl clarifies.

"Damn, you already got yourself on Yuu's blacklist. That's quick." Lavi says, something like admiration shining in his green eye. It slips away when he's hit again, this time on the forehead. With a spoon.

"What was that _for_?" He cries, cradling his abused head.

" _Stop_ calling me _Yuu_ ," the abuser seethes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know your thoughts, I'm a sucker for feedback!


	3. Life around the camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reading your comments makes me so happy it's ridiculous!

**3.**

It’s remarkable how quickly, how easily Allen _falls into_ life around the camp. As if there had been an empty slot just waiting to be filled by him. He wakes up earlier than most, right when the sun begins its ageless course, timid rays dissipating the fog that built up during the night, tiny water droplets glistening on the leaves and running down the outer layer of his tent.

The air is chilly when Allen slips out of his sleeping bag, body pliant and warm from slumber. He puts on his pitiful looking shoes over thick socks and a loose sweater before stepping outside. Breathes in the fresh and peaceful atmosphere and yawns.

He throws a glance over his shoulder at Timcanpy’s huddled up form, not anywhere near ready to wake up.

It’s been little over a week since Allen arrived with Lenalee and Kanda, and he has already been trusted with his fair share of chores – the enthusiasm with which he executes them probably due to the childlike wonder of discovering domesticity – for a boy who never belonged anywhere it’s simply and deeply satisfying.

One of the things he’s responsible for is the bringing of water to wash the dishes and vegetables they find. There’s a stream, about a ten-minute-long walk south from the settlement, that’s where he heads to, holding an empty plastic carboy by the neck, steps unhurried.

The wind blows gently between the shrubberies, a wet whisper running amongst the innumerable shades of green. The murmur of vegetation accompanying his strides. The atmosphere is so serene; it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to imagine that the apocalypse hasn’t befallen the earth, to forget that life hangs only by a thread. That nobody is safe.

Allen knows better than to get lost in contemplation and keeps his senses on alert. He’s not paying attention to the ground though, his heel presses into slippery mud and he loses his balance, stumbling down a slope, butt sinking in the soft soil.

“Ouch –” he grunts, coccyx throbbing. The lightning of a sudden movement shines right before him and he shrieks, “Jesus _Christ_!” because there’s a _very_ sharp looking blade a breath away from his throat.

“What the hell? Beansprout?”

Shocks instantly morphs into irritation.

“The name’s Allen,” he throws back, teeth clicking.

“Why were you creeping up on me, freak?”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” he shakes the carboy for emphasis. “I’m on water duty.”

Talking while the prospect of decapitation quite literally grazes you is somewhat uncomfortable – whether the swordsman realizes or not – and Allen is about to ask: ‘would you mind putting that thing away from me, please’ when the offending device and the arm holding it withdraw silently.

If Allen had learned something during the days he had spent among these people, it’s that Kanda is by no means _nice_. He’s a cold bastard. Doesn’t have a single pleasant bone in his body. The concept of politeness in all likelihood as foreign to him as life on another planet.

He also noticed how Kanda tolerates Lavi’s bigger than life persona, how he respects Komui and only shows the closest he could come to being amiable to Lenalee. Allen’s the odd man out, here. The one Kanda favors when it comes to expressing his anger or frustration, the one he turns to when there’s a particularly cruel jab on his tongue. Maybe it’s some sort of a sick privilege and Allen has to admit, an even sicker part of him _enjoys_ it. Occasionally. Most of the time it just feels damn infuriating. Downright unfair.

Yet he still finds the git appealing, torn between some absurd infatuation – or whatever he’s got going – and the itch to punch that pretty face of his. He must be going bloody barmy.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He asks, standing up, genuinely curious – Kanda disappears for hours on end, God only knows where to. Is it to come here? – but acting uninterested.

The guy’s face clams up, much like a mussel when it’s being removed from its lodge on a rock.

He should know better than to try talking to the prick. It’s like asking to be insulted.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

_How predictable._

A hard shoulder purposefully knocks against his. He’s not getting anywhere with this. The wisest thing would be to let it go, to drop it. His brow furrows in aggravation and his hand shots up and closes around Kanda’s forearms, grasp strong enough to halt the long-haired male’s steps.

“What’s your problem?” He can s _ee_ Kanda fuming; nostrils flared and ice-cold stare. “Could you at least tell me what I _ever_ did to you?”

A dark gaze settles on the abnormally colored hand and the man’s face scrunches up in distaste.

“Get that thing off me,” comes the deep, chilly voice. “Before I chop it off.”

It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last, Allen is met with scorn and disgust. He must’ve grown soft, though, because it sends an almost forgotten, long-lived stab through his chest and he freezes, grip going slack. It allows Kanda to shake off the affronting appendage and stomp away. Tall silhouette engulfed by the surrounding foliage.

Allen’s hands roll into tight, trembling fists. He walks to the stream, dips the carboy under the water, focuses on the patterns the water draws as it fills the plastic body, bubbling soundly. Like his contained anger and indignation.

He tries to shake it off; smiles back at Komui who greets him when he reaches the camp again, goes along with the idle chatter he’s pulled into, but the morning’s exchange keeps nibbling at his mind.

Lavi’s old man – Allen hasn’t managed to catch his name, but he heard the others addressing him as ‘Bookman’, which he’s pretty sure is a nickname. Lavi and he used to run a library after all – climbs up the ladder fixed to the side of the RV to his usual observation spot. There’s a deck chair placed on the roof, provided for his specific use. He spends most of his afternoons there, blending in the scenery, wrinkled gaze stubbornly set on the horizon. A rifle sits on his lap, in case danger should manifest itself.

Lavi is lounging cross legged in the shade, leaning over a book.

“What’s that?” Allen asks, plopping down next to the older male.

“ _Moby-Dick_ ,” the redhead answers, closing and passing the heavy tome over to the other boy.

The yellowish pages are worn out at the bottom corner – like they’ve been turned a hundred times – the cover is creased and has lost color.

“Looks like one hell of a read,” he hands the volume back.

“Yeah, when we had to leave our place I couldn’t chose and just went for the biggest one. I mean, what better time to go through some classics than the end of the world?”

“I…guess.”

“I’ve finished it already,” the one-eyed continues. “I could lend it to you, if you want?”

“Ah, no, I’m fine, thank you,” Allen quickly refuses, just slightly overwhelmed by the sheer thickness of the thing. “I’m not much of a reader.”

Lavi chuckles, it dies down, replaced by a clever eye searching the younger male’s face.

“Wanna tell me what’s eatin’ ya?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

He wonders vaguely who he’s trying to convince, pouting like that and tugging at the dried grass. Nobody, that’s who. He’s a damn good liar when he wants to be, and right now he’s clearly not trying.

“Does it have anything to do with Yuu’s super bad mood this morning?”

 _Am I really that obvious?_ He wonders.

“We had a run-in and he was his usual arsehole self.”

Lavi hums and scratches at the light stubble on his chin.

“He’s not warming up to ya, is he?”

The white-haired boy does smile at that – although it’s a tad bitter – because the mere idea is the definition of improbable.

“I doubt that’s even possible.”

Lavi only pats him on the shoulder encouragingly.

* * *

“Each square has a corresponding number and letter, see?” Johnny points at the side of the board, index finger running across the sides. “They go from A to H and 1 to 8.”

Allen is positively fascinated.

He’s caught sight of Johnny and Suman playing chess a couple of times. It looks complicated, all about mathematics: calculating your moves and anticipating your adversary’s. It reminds him of poker.

“There are six different kinds of pieces, and each of them moves differently. The rooks,” he takes a tower-like piece in his hand, “go in the corners. They may move as far as they want; forward, backward and to the sides. They’re particularly powerful pieces when they are protecting each other and working together.” The phrasing makes Allen smile, but Johnny’s usually expressive face is focused so he nods, to indicate he understands.

“Next comes the knight,” he continues. “It moves in a different way from the other pieces: two squares in one direction and then one more at a 90-degree angle. Just like the shape of an ‘L’. It’s also the only one that can move over other pieces.”

Suman, who’s sitting silently in front of the short brown-haired man, crosses his arms. A discontented expression on his squarish face.

“The knights are followed by the bishops. These can move as far as they want, but only diagonally. Each bishop starts on one color and must a _lways_ stay on that color.”

Then he takes one of the crowned figures.

“The queen is the most powerful piece. She can move in any one straight direction: forward, backward, sideways or diagonally. As far as possible as long as she doesn’t move through any of her own pieces. Like with all others, if the queen captures an opponent’s piece her move is over.” There’s only one figurine left. “And finally, the king takes the remaining square. It’s the most important piece, but also the weakest. It can move one square in any direction: up and down to the sides, and diagonally. It may never move itself into check, but if it’s attacked by another piece, it’s called ‘check’.”

He gestures at the first-row, eight squares occupied by the same eight pieces.

“Last but not least, the pawns! They’re unusual because they move and capture in different ways: they move forward but capture diagonally. Pawns can only move forward one square at a time, except for the first move, where they can move two squares.”

Johnny, round spectacles sliding down his upturned nose, looks at Allen with a smile.

“Want to give it a try?”

“Definitely!”

“Here, you’ll play against Suman, then!”

He gives his chair to Allen and leans over his shoulder.

“I’ll help you out for your first match.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Suman complains, snapping out of his grim silence.

Gray eyes widen slightly, both surprised and amused. The man before him is usually so tight lipped that in all the days he’s been here he only heard him talk a couple of times. It appears that chess – and loosing – make him chatt _ier_ , if not chatty.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing against a novice.” Johnny throws back with a large smile and the frown between the older man’s eyebrows deepens.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says with a tone of finality, eyes scanning the wooden board before he chooses a pawn to move forward.

Johnny thinks up the moves really fast – like he’s got the whole game thought through – whispering to Allen where he should place this or that piece. Suman on the other side, is visibly struggling. Fingers resting against his chin as he ponders what to do. It’s not long before Allen has captured most of his pawns, both his knights and one rook. Moves losing their initial hesitation and growing bolder.

“You’re a quick-learner, Allen!” Johnny praises, impressed.

“Thanks,” he grins. “I always enjoyed a good game.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Suman mutters opposite them, the corner of his mouth ticking with annoyance as he moves his king around in a futile attempt to preserve it. In the end he loses by moving it into check himself.

The man stands up abruptly, a deep scowl on his face as he walks away from the them.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a sore loser Suman!” Johnny calls after him to no avail, evidently amused by his friend’s antics.

“Is it okay?” Allen asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, he’ll come around eventually. And ask for a rematch,” the curly-haired male laughs lightly.

“I wouldn’t have pegged him as the sulking type.”

“He _is_. When he loses, he refuses to talk to me for _days_ and I’ve won 39 times to his 7. Back to back that has to be like four months of silent treatment?”

Allen laughs, Johnny and Suman make such an odd pair. Their personalities so very fundamentally different; Suman being almost creepily quiet where Johnny can talk to anyone easily – and that includes the camp’s two infamous socially retarded cases – even _he_ acts more genuinely around the guy.

It’s a dangerous power Johnny has: to get under one’s skin. He looks like he’s not even aware of it and maybe that’s how it works.

“Allen, may I have a word?” Komui’s level voice interrupts.

He sounds serious and the laughter diminishes.

“Of course,” he stands up from the chair Johnny lent him to follow Lenalee’s brother. He remembers something and turns around, walking backwards to face the short man. “Remind me to teach you about cards next time!”

Johnny smiles brightly. “Got it!”

Komui leads Allen to the RV. It’s been parked in the same place since he arrived.

“After you,” the tall man opens the door and motions for the teen to go inside.

He finds that Lenalee, Lavi and Kanda are already there; the girl and the redhead sitting on a narrow convertible couch while the long-haired male stands opposite them, arms crossed. Dark eyes spot Allen and his expression immediately becomes sour.

The younger male answers with a frown of his own and a downturned curve to his lips.

“Why did you bring the beansprout, Komui?”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve got a name.”

“Because Allen will be leaving with you tomorrow.”

“What? Leaving to go where?” The aforementioned boy asks. They don’t hear or ignore his question.

“Just kill me right the fuck now.”

“Calm down with the sass, will you?”

“We don’t need the brat or Lenalee to tag along, Lavi and I can take care of it.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Kanda.” There’s a finality to Komui’s voice and the black-haired male’s mouth shuts with an audible clap.

“What in the Lord’s name are you going on about?” Allen cuts in again with combined annoyance and incomprehension.

“I want the four of you to go on a supply mission,” Komui finally explains. “We’re running low on food again, and let’s not even start on ammo. It’s not been an issue until now, but I’d rather it doesn’t become one.”

“Yuu’s right, though” Lavi speaks up. “That’s nothing two of us can’t manage on their own. Plus, and I mean no offense, leaving the camp with no skilled fighters is pretty risky itself.”

“We’ll still have Bookman and Suman with us,” Komui dodges the argument and starts rummaging through the upper cabinets. “Besides, it shouldn’t take you any longer than a day. A day and a half at most. Now, if I _need_ the four of you to go, it’s because this time you’ll be going deeper inside the city. Reever and I believe that’s where the real resources are.”

“The city…that’s where there are the most walkers, brother.”

“Yes. A lot of people lived there, meaning food in abundance for them.”

“Isn’t it too dangerous?”

“From what you’ve reported to me from your last expeditions it looks like they’ve been spreading out, we might have an opening.”

Komui doesn’t find what he’s searching for and squats down, emptying the bottom cupboards’ contents on the floor.

“There it is!” He exclaims victoriously, brandishing a white and pink polka dot wrapping paper roll.

Lenalee and Lavi push books, dirty plates and coffee stained mugs away from the center of the table, allowing Komui to unfold the brightly colored paper, blank side upwards. Except it’s not blank.

“What’s that?” Allen wonders aloud, leaning over the man’s shoulder to take a closer look. On Komui’s other side Kanda does exactly the same, and their arms brush together.

“Don’t touch me, sprout,” Kanda growls.

“You bumped against _me_ , jerk.”

“Allen, Kanda, please. I need your attention.”

“Tch.”

“Sorry.”

“Is that a map?” Lavi inquires, already studying the sketch.

“That’s right,” Komui states. “Johnny, Reever and I tried to make it as accurate as possible. I’d say it’s pretty close to the real deal.”

“You drew it from memory?”

“Indeed.”

“That’s…impressive.”

“Well thank you, Allen.”

“Don’t praise him too much, it might get to his head,” Lenalee chimes in, but the affection and pride dancing in her large eyes contradict her words. The softest smile blossoms on her brother’s mouth.

“This right here,” he starts again, pointing at a small square, “represents what used to be a police station where you might find some firearms left and considerable amounts of ammunition. It’ll be your first stop. A hundred yards down the street is a shopping center.” A long, pale finger slides across the thin paper to settle on a similar but larger shape. “There was a supermarket inside. It got raided when it all started, but the stocks should be mostly intact. That’s the two places I need you to get into.”

“And how are we supposed to do that? The streets will be flooding with geeks. A few of ‘em ain’t nothing we can’t go through, but if we get surrounded by a horde we’ll be in deep shit,” comes Kanda’s to the point remark.

“That’s why you’ll be taking the fast road and entering the city north. It’s far less crowded there. Most walkers followed people south.”

Kanda frowns.

“That’s a half-hour longer ride, it’ll use too much gas.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Komui deadpans. “You’ve been exploring the residential neighborhoods for weeks, each time bringing less. It’s only a matter of time before you don’t find anything anymore and come back empty handed. We’ve got to think bigger.” He flattens his hand over the rudimentary map, palm down and fingers spread out. “If this works out, we’ll be set for weeks. Maybe a month or two if we ration the supplies. What do you say?”

Lenalee bites at her bottom lip, hesitant. Lavi’s attempting to picture the whole thing in his mind and Kanda’s still frowning, but it’s apparent he’s contemplating the plan.

“I say it’s worth a shot,” Allen voices when the silence starts to stretch and Komui gives him a grateful nod.

“You told me you knew your way around locks and sneaking in and out of buildings, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the perfect occasion to put those skills of yours to good use.” 

He turns to the others, hands on his hips, expectant.

“I’m with the brat,” Kanda grumbles, looking as if his tongue’s about to fall off and Allen is so surprised he forgets to protest the verbal abuse.

Lavi leans back against his seat, crossing his hands behind his head. “Count me in,” he says with a lazy smile.

“It’s decided, then,” Lenalee concludes. Like not going with them simply isn’t an option.

“Excellent,” Komui rolls up the map and hands it to Lavi. “I trust you not to lose it.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Go get your stuff ready. I’ll give you ammo but remember to use it only if you have no other choice.”

“We got this, brother,” the only girl in the group reassures.

“I know,” the man sighs. He has to send them away, knowing they might not come back. It must weight heavily on his shoulders. “You’ll be taking the Ford Escort; it has the most spacious trunk.”

“It needs a refill,” Kanda states.

“You know where to find the gasoline.”

The long-haired male nods and exits the RV.

“You’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, around 7 o’clock,” he tells the others.

“Do you have a weapon, Allen? I can lend you a gun if you need one.”

“I’ve got one already.”

“Good.” He stares at the white-haired teen pointedly. “If I’m asking this of you, it’s because I trust you,” he eventually declares.

It makes the boy's throat tighten. 

“I won’t let you down.”

* * *

The dark and silent night finds Allen turning and twisting inside his tent; sleep set on eluding him. Plagued with gruesome images and thoughts every time his eyelids fall shut. Raspy grunting echoing in his ears. The phantom of cold clammy digits scraping his skin. He’s almost scared to doze off, scared of the nightmares his brain will conjure.

They’re leaving in a few hours for what has little chances of running as smoothly as they’d like and they’ll need to be on their toes, which is significantly harder to do when you’re lacking sleep. Allen should’ve been fast asleep by now, but the sluggish and acid mishmash of nervousness and apprehension _won’t_ let him rest.

He rolls onto his back, turning for the umpteenth time. The sleeping bag is tangled up around his feet and he kicks at it.

 _Seriously the best time to get insomnia_.

His right hand finds Timcanpy’s little form breathing regularly against his leg and settles there, fingers running through the soft fur. 

How could such a tiny thing be so anchoring?

Allen huffs in frustration, finally coming to terms with the fact that he’s not going to fall asleep.

“Might as well go for a walk,” he whispers to himself.

He always liked night better than day; feels at ease in the shade it provides, appreciates the coolness. A breeze curls around the trees, it brings the smell of warm dusty earth to his nose. He sticks his hands in his front pockets and walks away as quietly as possible.

The sky is clear and the moon bright enough that it illuminates his way, casting a blueish glow on the settlement.

Mana would’ve liked it here.

The dull ache that accompanies nostalgia settles in his chest and Allen welcomes it. Is thankful for it. It’s a meager price to pay for his happiest memories.

He doesn’t know how long he keeps on walking, but when he’s nearing the center of the camp again, his anguish has consequently subsided. It’s short lived though, because once he’s by the RV, the sound of shuffling reaches him. Imagining right away it’s a walker, or several of them, Allen squats down, cursing himself for not taking any weapon along in his impromptu promenade.

He hears a zipper being undone and relaxes; zombies don’t bother with zippers.

Straightening up from his crouching position he spots a head of red hair. It’s Lavi, probably needing to take a leak. Allen is about to call him but stops short as the other male – unaware of his presence – heads towards a familiar tent instead of the nearby bushes.

He goes very still. Astonishment causing his mind to go blank, which is only natural since Lavi is sneaking inside Kanda’s tent.

Talk about unexpected development.

The sight in itself is surreal enough, but the meaning behind it managed to be even more so.

Allen tiptoes back to his own shelter, making it a mission to _not_ breathe. Once inside, his body falls limply on the sleeping bag, mouth still ajar from shock.

He tries, with all his might, to block out the noises coming from his neighbors. It’s easier said than done and his hormonal teenage mess of a body ends up reacting to the faint moaning, brain providing helpful graphic material.

He brings an arm over his reddened face and exhales shakily.

There’s no way he’s going to jerk off to his companions getting it on. That would be plain wrong.

Instead, he rolls on his front, presses his hips to the solid ground beneath him and wills his hard-on to die down.

Needless to say Allen doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my native language but it feels more natural using it when writing about DGM. I hope there aren't too many mistakes but if you spot any please let me know so I can improve my skills!  
> Tags will be added along the way.


End file.
